


It is Well

by PLUSHH



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Catholicism, F/M, Protective Siblings, Slow Burn, brother sister friendship, cajun/lousiana french culture, charles being a precious loving understanding man who wants to comfort a woman in distress, existentialism and questioning faith in god, mary beth x wilton bc she deserves it, mentions of rape/assault, more to come when i can think of them - Freeform, no beta we die like men, redneck shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PLUSHH/pseuds/PLUSHH
Summary: When peace like a river, attendeth my way,When sorrows like sea billows rollWhatever my lot, thou hast taught me to sayIt is well, it is well, with my soulHer eyes are lit up and green like sunshine through thin cypress leaves, yet distant with grief. Charles wants to soothe the worry in her brows and take her away from the oppressive voices that constantly demand work. He longs to offer comfort, safety, a way out- To give her the peace she deserved. Her fear bears down on her brutally, but he'd take that burden for her if she'd only let him. God, what can he do?She turns and looks at him solemnly. Charles takes her hand without thought and squeezes it tightly in his own, unafraid to never let go.





	1. Chapter 1

The days are exceptionally hot in Lemoyne. Charles hadn’t thought it’d be so bad- after all, he’d survived the unforgiving weather of the Great Plains, and what could be worse than the snow-capped mountains of the Grizzly’s? This, apparently. He’d never felt such a sweltering, oppressive heat before. It had him stripped down to just his bare shirt and pants, sometimes going without his boots, and usually with his hat. Anything to keep the sun at bay. It was like that day after day and he bore it just as well as anyone else in camp (cursing and sweating like pigs).

But it is an unusually cool day now. Clouds hang heavy and dark on the horizon, promising what will most likely be a strong rain. He doesn’t get the feeling it will be a storm; he charge of lightning isn’t in the air, and the wildlife seem calm enough.

It’s on this dark day that Dutch comes riding back into camp tailed by Arthur. The former man has his brow set determinedly as he trots past on his Arabian mount, while the latter seems agitated, his mouth in a hard growl, and then right behind him follows a complete stranger. A man riding a blood bay mare, and he looks nervous beneath his rambler hat, his clothes dusty and a bruise crawling up his neck. Charles stares after them from his post as watchman, rifle rested against his shoulder, before he gravitates over to the small assembly under the tree. Dutch is speaking to Hosea in earnest, marching over to his tent like a man on a mission. Charles can only guess he’s found a new job for them. Silently he observes the stranger;

He's young, possibly younger than twenty, with sandy blonde hair and a shallow beard around his jaw and mouth. His eyes, green and bright, dart back and forth nervously, but he doesn't seem the meek type. Just out of his element, perhaps. he isn't dressed any better than they are though. A commoner. But he must be special for Dutch to allow him into camp like this. 

“Javier- get ready, we’re heading out to Van Horn.”

“Van Horn?” Hosea interjects as Javier runs off to his tent. Dutch hums and fetches his revolver he’d been cleaning before he left. Swiftly he assembles it as the stranger hurries over. 

“It’s my sister, sir- she’s been kidnapped.”

“Oh, so we’re chivalrous heroes now?” Hosea quirks his brow and speaks in an incredulous tone of voice, but his arms are crossed with thought. Arthur behind him speaks up with disdain; 

“I keep tellin’ him it’s a bad idea!“

“You saw that homestead, Arthur. Burnt to a crisp, but still grand, it was huge.”

“Doesn’t mean the kid is tellin’ the truth!”

“No, but I know for a fact that whoever occupied that home before had to have been wealthy to afford a house like that. Which means that whoever ruined it ran off with all the loot. Besides-“ Dutch turns and claps his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Even if this fool isn’t a Larcade, it can’t hurt to rescue a sweet dame in the process. Might earn us some good word." This is unlike Dutch, Charles thinks. Taking the opportunity without thinking of the risks. "Now, you say you know where this gang is holding out, boy?” The young blonde nods and Dutch steers him to the map.

“Charles- you get ready too- I have a feeling we’ll need a few more hands on us this time.”

“Alright.” He too nods and heads to his tent. Javier is just finishing equipping his bandolier and double pistols. There’s a soft chuckle as Charles begins to suit up as well.

“So, what’d you think of this? Rescue mission?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t heard enough yet, but I never like it when we’ve got to get someone alive.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Makes everything more difficult. It’s easy to get that person killed, or die trying, for that matter. But if Dutch is in for it there must be a lot of money on the line.” 

“There better be.” Javier straightens and so does Charles, who has a considerably lighter arsenal of just his rifle and a sidearm. He is one of the most accurate of the group, as well as the best at being quiet and infiltration. He never needs more than just the essentials.

Once back under Dutch’s tent the man gestures them closer.

“Gentlemen, this is Wilton Larcade-“

“Just Will, please.”

“Will. I’m sure you’ve all more or less heard of the Larcade homestead being burnt down just North-East of Saint Denis?” There’s a few nods and hums of agreement. Charles thinks back and remembers a paper boy shouting something or another about the family. But he hadn’t really been listening in that moment.

“It was the Faulks- a clan my family's always had trouble with. They’re holed up here-“ He points to a spot on the map just west of Van Horn. Charles personally has never been, but he hears it’s an empty logging town with little more than a shop and a bar. “They my ma’ and pa’ and stole my sister, Evangeline.”

“And we’re going to get her back, as well as the fortune they stole from your homestead, correct?” Dutch touches his shoulder again. Physically he’s asserting the dominance in the exchange. A soft, gentle warning to keep promises. But Wilton doesn’t falter under his stern voice;

“Yes sir. I’ll give anything to have my sister safe.” Charles can tell he is speaking from the heart. There is a strong fire in his eyes- the kind that gets a fool killed. Arthur huffs once more.

“This is insane.”

“Alright boys, let’s head out now, sun’s starting to set. Hosea you hold the fort till I come back.” The older man shouts back his agreement as Dutch once more returns to his horse. Every move he makes seems more and more unstable these days. He’s quick to jump on jobs, each more outrageous and sketchy than the last, determined to find the miracle they need so badly. But it’s just been getting them into deeper and deeper shit they can’t handle. The pressure is building on him and not for the better.

But it’s not Charles’ place to say such.

He mounts up on Taima and follows the small group with Wilton Larcade. He can tell Dutch has picked the best at stealth and assault in the gang. The ones that can be quiet and stick to a plan, and who won’t take unsafe risks in the heat of the moment. He must want to get in and get out quickly, or perhaps is planning to at least try. But how tricky can a clan of theiving, kidnapping rednecks really be?

“So, how exactly did this all happen, Will?” Arthur obviously still isn’t buying the yarn this kid is spinning. Wilton responds at first with a heavy sigh. 

“First they wanted our pa’s land- but he wouldn’t sell. We lived in that house for generations- My great grand-dad built it with his wife, and my dad spent his whole life working in our sugar cane fields. It pissed them right off. Then one of the men- Henry Faulk- wanted to marry my sister. Of course our pa’ said no- filthy, drunk, protestant trash-“ Wilton’s face is now twisted with anger, voice like an agitated dog ready to snap. “So they came in the middle of the night just a month ago, a whole twenty of ‘em and demanded my pa’ give ‘em Evangeline or else. Pa’ told ‘em no again so Henry said he’d be back. Two weeks later they show up in the middle of the night with torches and guns like a mob. They broke into our house, took my sister, then... they killed our parents right in front of me, tried to drown me in the lake. I’m a keen swimmer, though- got away before they realized I wasn’t dead. But it was too late to catch my sister.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Javier comments in the rear.

“It… It still is. They took all we had before they destroyed our home. I don’t have anything to my name- Just my sister, now. And I’m not gonna let them get away with her.”

“So why not go to the law about this, then?” Arthur prods.

“I tried, but they don’t believe me, and when you haven’t got a penny to your name, well, what does it matter?” It's a good point, and the Van Der Linde Gang know as good as anyone else that money makes life easy. 

They ride in silence after that. Wilton has a rifle already armed and he doesn’t look back at them. Charles can bet he is ready to die for his family with an aura as determined as his own in this moment. Maybe he will, tonight. 

After a little more riding and an off-trail hike on foot through some dense lob-lolly pine woods they encroach on the Faulk encampment. It consists of two small houses with a horse-barn and a larger red barn probably used for cattle. They hide in the treeline behind the thick underbrush as Dutch begins to devise a plan of attack with his hand stroking his bristled chin. 

“This is just like that homestead robbery we did up north, eh Arthur?” Javier elbows the cowboy playfully, but he only shakes his head with a deep sigh.

“Wasn’t really keen to replay that scenario to be honest. Especially not if fire is involved again."

“We should draw them away, distract them so one of you can find Evangeline. Then, once she’s clear, we’ll shoot the bastards and clean out the houses. Trouble is we don’t know which one she’s in.”

The two buildings stand small and plain against the night sky. On the porch men are relaxing and milling about, but aren’t on guard. Still they probably have guns, and who knows how many could be inside. 

“What’s in those barns, Wilton?” Charles finally speaks. The boy looks up at him first, then at the barn, and puffs his cheeks.

“Cattle, probably, They’re dairy farmers I think.”

“We could cause a distraction that way, Dutch.”

“Great idea. Javier, head over and see what commotion you can stir up but stay out of sight. Me and Charles will head into the houses, and Arthur, you watch our backs, make sure no one sees us, got it?” As disagreeable as he is to the job, Arthur nods, his pistol already drawn and ready. “Wilton, you search with us. I’m sure your sister will be much more trusting if she sees you." Dutch then draws his pistol. In the moonlight he looks a bit crazed, eyes set on the houses like they're a gold mine. "Alright- let go.”

Javier breaks away, slipping along the treeline to the mostly ignored barn at the South end of the farm. As he does the rest of the gang sneak around to the back of the houses. Dutch and Wilton take the left, he and Arthur take the right. They wait against an abandoned outhouse until the sound of aggravated cattle and shouting begin from the barn. Peeking around he can see the barn doors swing wide open. Black and white heifers charge out bucking and running wild straight through a paddock and an open gate into the woods. Javier gets their attention screaming 'the cows are loose!' and other nonsensical hoots. Men begin to spill out from the houses in a sort of dazed panick and mount the horses in the stables, yelling to catch the cattle before they get too far. One man, tall and clad in just pants and a shirt, demands to know what the hell is going on. Of course, none of them know. He runs and mounts up on a stallion to help in the chase. With everyone gone the four men split and begin to search the homes.

Charles can tell most of the occupants have left- there are empty beer bottles littered around, and the smell of chewing tobacco and cigarettes hangs oppressively in the air like a fog, but there's little noise. He is silent, however, and with due cause; a man with his rifle stands in the window. He's is easily taken down with a knife in his back. The entire first floor is empty. Charles checks down in the cellar to be safe next- but it’s silent and dark. No one here.

“Found anything yet?” Arthur whispers to him through an open window. The men are still shouting outside, and now the whinnying of horses accompanies the excited moos and hollering.

“No, not yet.” Charles ascends the stairs slowly as possible. They creak minimally, and he listens to each door before opening them. The first room has a sleeping drunk in it’s bed, but little else. The next is completely empty but expensive books have been ripped and shredded all across the floor. He can see a few medical illustrations- strange, but not what he's after. The final room has a light from under the door peeking through. He slowly pushes it open, revolver in hand, but nothing could have prepared him for the scene he discovered inside. 

There is old blood on the floor, browned and tracked by boots. Kicked into the corner are empty bottles of liquor. The bed too is stained with red marks, the sheets half pulled off and a pillow ripped. He walks around and finds a single oil lap on a nightstand, which illuminates the form of a naked woman tied and bound to a closet door handle. She is fair skinned, her eyes and mouth covered by strips of cloth, and her dark hair is barely clinging to what once was probably a neat bun. Her throat and ribs are dark with bruises, bite marks, and scratches. But she seems completely awake as a fierce tremble shakes her from head to toe. Charles approaches swiftly and removes the blind and the gag, hands up and open to her as her face is revealed. 

Her eyes are green like new saplings; wild and full of life. A light smatter of freckles lay across her nose. an old trail of dried, cracked blood drips from her nostril to her lip and chin. 

“Shh-“ Charles puts a finger to his lips. “I’m here to help you. Your brother sent me.”

Evangeline shakes, her chapped lips closing as she swallows.

“My brother?” Her voice is so soft he could barely hear it. Charles pulls his knife to cut her free. The brunette visibly flinches, curling up tighter against her restraints.

“It’s okay- We’re here to help you, just stay quiet.”

“You’ve gotta hurry. Henry and his cousins- they’ll kill you- they-“ Charles hushes her again and pointedly keeps his eyes trained away from her naked, marked body. She can’t leave like that, though, so he quickly pulls a sheet off of the bed and drapes it around her. Under his hands she is small and fragile.

“Can you walk?” He knows what they’ve done. He’s seen it time and time again. Evangeline shakes her head and grips his arm. “It’s okay.” Men, no matter their color, will always be savage. Carefully he lifts the small woman into his arms against his chest, taking care to avoid her injuries as she whines and clings to him in fear. Like this she feels so light- she didn't stand a chance against these men. A sudden hot, hurting anger boils in his stomach. What sort of person just steals a girl and kills her family? Certainly not a man struck by love.

Charles reaches the first floor again a moment later with Evangeline in his arms. Dutch and Wilton have emerged out of the second house and Arthur has begun to take shots as the Faulk clan returns to the homestead.

“Will!” The girl shouts suddenly in his arms. She leans forward like she might leap out after him, but Charles doesn’t let her.

“She’s injured-“

“Take her back to camp. We found some of the stash but I’ll bet the rest of it is in there somewhere. We’ll be back once we find it.” Dutch strides past confidently without giving Charles a chance to comment. 

“Will-“ Evangeline struggles again and her brother rushes to her side.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em, Eve. I’m gonna kill every last one of them sons-of-bitches that touched you.” Wills eyes are lit up like a bonfire, but his sister begs anyways, sobbing now.

“You’ll die Will- You-“

“Then I’ll die. For you and ma’ and pa’.” He clasps his sister’s hand in his own, kissing her bloodied knuckles firmly before he races off to join Arthur and Dutch.

“Charles get the girl outta here!” Comes Arthur’s voice, and Charles doesn’t hesitate a moment longer. Evangeline screams in his arms as she begs him not to leave Will behind. She thrashes and kicks, but she’s weak in this state and he has no trouble hoisting her onto Taima before joining her from behind. It’s not a very secure position but the man holds her tight in his free arm as he steers the mare home with the other. They leave into the pines again, and with one glance back Charles can see Javier joining up again on his own horse. Gunshots follow them into the night and fade with the distance he puts between them and the fight.

Then there’s just Evangeline’s crying. It’s a broken, hysteric sound into Charles’ shoulder. Her delicate fingers grip tight to him like a vice, so scared and helpless.

“It’ll be okay.” He wishes there was more he could say, but honestly, he doesn’t know if that’s true. He just focuses on the ride and tries to keep her steady in his arms. 

Taima is swift to get them home. Once out of the brush and closer to camp Charles dismounts with the fair girl in his arms, tucking her face into his neck and shoulder to muffle her the best he can, but Evangeline’s high-pitched wails quickly wake the rest of the group. Mrs. Grimshaw and Hosea appear and quickly the woman usher Charles into the man’s tent; presumably because it’s the most private and has a cot for her to rest on. But once laid down her screaming is far more pronounced. Mrs. Grimshaw consoles her, hugging her into her chest the same way Charles did.

“She needs serious medical attention.” He says to the older woman. She nods, rocking Evangeline slowly. 

“We can handle her. You go keep watch for the others.” Charles hesitates. He wants to do something helpful. Wrapped in the soiled sheet and sobbing Evangeline seems like nothing more than a frightened little girl. He wants to protect her, or to ease her crying- anything. But a moment later Mary-Beth is there as well as Karen and Tilly, and they usher him out of the tent fussily.

He stands expunged from the scene, suddenly aware of how quiet the night is. It’s cool, crickets sing, there is nothing left to do but wait.

So Charles takes up post at the border of camp with his rifle once again. He vibrates with the excitement of the heist, as well as the fury of what the Faulk clan had done to an innocent family. He tries to calm down with the picture of the empty sky above, or the calm surface of the shoreline, but all he can see is Evangeline’s naked body in that house, or Will’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw as he went to avenge their parent’s death. It’s a story he’s seen before but it never gets less horrifying. Time passes incredibly slowly, it feels like. He shifts from foot to foot and stares blankly into the darkness of the woods before him. The girl’s cries to her brother echo in his head.

It’s such a distraction that he doesn’t notice Sadie amble up next to him. She smokes a cigarette quietly before offering it to him. Normally he would refuse, but in light of recent events he takes it, then mumbles his thanks as he takes a deep drag. 

“It went okay?” Sadie stands like a man; her arms crossed over her breasts, her legs apart, chin high. She is prideful and strong, and Charles has always admired that about her.

“As good as it could have, all things considered.” Charles offers the cigarette back to her. The woman hums and takes the smoke again. There’s a minute of silence. An owl calls in the trees; wind makes them rustle.

“What happened to her?” Sadie gestures back at the tent with her chin.  

Charles sighs and is unable to keep his eyes in one place. All his nerves are strung out and his mind races. He feels trapped and on the run again. He feels like he is the one assaulted, and it’s an old feeling he doesn’t wish to experience again.

“Raped.” No doubt with the state she was in and from what Will had said about the Faulk clan. Sadie takes in breath as she brings her cigarette back to her lips.

“Fucked up bastards." 

Charles can only nod in agreement. But, eventually, his temper gets the best of him as it rarely does. His voice is tight as he continues;

“She was tied up, naked, in a bedroom. God knows how long she’d been there.”

“You kill the bastard that did it?”

“Her brother swore he would, before we got away. And for her sake I hope he did.”

It was then the sound of hooves approached. Be it to paranoia or rage Charles readied his rifle, but Dutch appeared first and signaled their return. Following him was Javier, Arthur, and Wilton. They all seemed worn at a glance- Wilton’s shoulder was bloodied and Arthur sported a new fat lip- but otherwise alright. Swiftly Charles went to join them as they dismounted.

“What happened?” Dutch hefted a large lockbox off the back of the Count and brought it to the camp table.

“We found the stash and killed them all.” His voice is gleeful as he begins to work his knife into the lock. Arthur takes a seat with a heavy groan and works his shoulder like it’s sore. Charles turns to look at Will, who is idly standing beside them, looking lost 

“Did you kill Henry Faulk? 

“I did. Where’s my sister?” Charles pats his back and points to Hosea’s tent, which was closed now but still emitted a few soft cries of pain.

“But you’d better wait before going in now. The girls are taking care of her and she’d do best with some rest. You too.” He was referring to the large bloodstain on the young man’s coat, which now Charles could see was centered by a bullet hole. “You good, Arthur?” Charles asked. The man grunted and stretched his feet out.

“I’ll be okay. You go take care of him.” Will seemed torn between going to his sister and following Charles. His eyes- also vibrant green- were locked on the busy tent. Hosea exited and went to Dutch to speak with him in hushed tones as their leader worked at the lockbox. But Charles grabbed Wills arm and pulled him away to the medical cart.

“You will get to see her, I promise. Let her calm down.” Charles sits Will on a box and instructs him to take off his coat as he gathers supplies.

“How- how was she?” Will is lucid in his actions. The shell shock of the fight no doubt has him stunned. It’s a lot for a boy to go through. Charles cleans a pair of forceps with alcohol and waits for Wilton to peel out of his shirt. But he does so with a wince. The bullet must definitely still be inside his body.

“Not good.” Charles is honest. It’s just the kind of man he is. “But I don’t know for sure. I just know what I saw.” And it makes his teeth grind together as he positions Will into the light of the nearby lamp. “This is going to hurt.” Without another warning he plunges the forceps into the bullet wound, causing Will to cry out and curl his hands into fists. Surprisingly he doesn’t try to writhe away like Charles expected him to. It’s over fast anyways- the bullet hadn’t gone very deep. He pulls the little bit of metal free and lets it drop to the ground. Fresh blood wells up from the torn skin but it doesn’t seem like an artery was hit. 

“What- what did you see?” Will somehow demands through the pain. Charles doesn’t want to answer so he ignores him for a moment, pretends to be focused on cleaning his wound and gathering stitches. “Tell me.” He asks again. Charles shakes his head.

“You don’t-“

Suddenly Will has him by the shirt collar, shaking him slightly. But he’s not an especially strong man by any means and only moves Charles a little. His face is red, tears in his eyes, and he shakes just like Evangeline had under his touch.

“ _Tell me what you saw.”_ They stare for a minute then. Charles can read all the pain Will has suffered in the past weeks. He can see how worried he is for his sister, the only one he has left, the only thing of value to him. There’s no doubt Dutch will take most of the remaining family fortune as payment for her rescue. A sigh of defeat rushes from his lips, and he drops his eyes back down to Will’s shoulder.  

“She was raped.” He finally answers. The word seems to stun Will, who leans away quickly.

“What?" 

“Raped. I mean- I’m not positive. I didn’t- look, or anything-“ He’s a decent man. “But she was… naked. Tied up in a bedroom. I’d bet that man who wanted to marry her took what he wanted by force.” That seems to stun Will into absolute silence. His eyes stare into the ground, even as Charles slowly resumes mending his bullet wound. He doesn’t prod, but glancing at the boy’s face makes his heart break. The expression on his now is one of pure pain. Regret. Sorrow. His tears slowly spill over his face as Charles sews thread around the open hole in his shoulder. He can sympathize with the kid. He too lost his mother long ago as a confused little boy. Now he can barely remember her face. And, to a degree, he’d lost his father as well. But the emotions Will has to feel now… Christ, he can’t imagine. 

Even as he ties knots with dark, strong thread, Will does not speak. He just sobs quietly into his hand. When Charles is done he covers the kid with a blanket and gives him some privacy. There’s nothing he can think to say as consolation, but he doubts anything could make Will feel better anyways. Charles makes his way to the bank of the river and washes his hands free of blood. He’s exhausted, but stays on the sand of the riverbank for a while.

He watches the stars, listens to the quiet voices of the women talking to the girl in the tent. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but they sound concerned. Then Evangeline begins to cry again. It’s softer than before, barely audible, and broken. Someone shushes her gently.

The hunter leaves to seek peace at his bedroll. Javier isn’t there but he doesn’t care to ask where he went. He simply falls down in his clothes, mind running faster than a jackrabbit from a coyote, and tries to sleep.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrote this at work kek

Charles was allowed to sleep further into the day than usual the next morning. The heist had taken a large portion of the night as well as his energy, and even after the whole thing it had been a while before he could truly fall asleep. He woke to the regular sounds of camp with his arm cast over his eyes to block out the sun. Pearson was obviously chopping something, a fire cracked and popped distantly, and birds sang in the water oak above merrily without a care for the humans below. The hunter groaned and sat up with a great heave, resting back on his palms. It must be nearly noon by the shadows he noted, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Gradually he stood, stretched, and began to make for the pot of coffee by the fire. 

Memories of the previous night flowed back to him steadily; gunshots, screaming, the trembling woman in his arms- it felt like crushing tidal waves with each passing moment. He didn’t care to wake up with anxiety but was suddenly worried for how the young woman was doing- as well as her brother.

Charles stood before the fire with his hands stretched out and looked on to Hosea’s tent. The curtain was still drawn, so she must still be inside? Motion drew his eyes to the medical wagon where a new tent was being erected. Hosea and Arthur were working with the canvas, pulling on either side in tandem to get it taut and secure. Mrs. Grimshaw suddenly appeared from Hosea’s tent and hurried over to them. Charles was too far away to hear what she said but she seemed concerned, her hands folded together in front of her, wringing, before she turned and headed back. Charles intercepted her- he couldn’t bear his curiosity any longer.

“How is she?”

The woman looked up to him sharply for a moment before shaking her head and gathering her skirt in her hand.

“Not good. Came down with an awful fever last night, poor thing can barely stay awake.” She parted the tent curtain and ducked inside, giving Charles a brief glimpse of a form under a dark wool blanket and what was probably Will beside it, clutching a small hand in his own.

Fever. She must have an infection. Thoughts of exactly how she was kept in that home began to creep along the edge of the man's mind. The litter, the blood, her frail body strung up like an animal-

Arthur strode past, breaking Charles train of thought as he tipped his head in greeting.

“Mornin’.” Then he ducked his head into the tent. “Ready to go, Mrs. Grimshaw.” The woman replied quietly and Arthur disappeared into the tent. A moment later Mrs. Grimshaw held the curtain open and Arthur emerged again- this time with Evangeline bundled in his arms like a bride.

Except she looked nothing of the sort. Her fair face was exceptionally pale, the hair around it wet with sweat. Her eyes did not open and her head lay against his shoulder limply. Her arms weren’t even holding for balance. She just shivered and rasped, and Arthur carried her quickly to the new tent erected, Will and Susan in tow. For a moment the young man made eye contact with Charles but it was weak. Obviously he had been crying again. His shoulders hung low with exhaustion. Charles could bet he hadn’t slept at all last night.

Charles watched as Evangeline was brought to the new tent. For a second he felt useless- he'd been sleeping while others were working to help. Then an idea struck him, and he headed to the small band of horses at the edge of camp. Taima, ever observant, nickered softly as she spotted him and came up without a call. He offered his hand and she pressed her nose into his palm with a heavy huff.

“Hey girl.” Their bond is strong, forged after almost a year on the run together. He’d known from the beginning that she’d be a good horse- even in the paddock along the other wild, unbroken animals she was calm. Her big, dark eyes were warm with intelligence, and she hadn’t flinched as he’d reached out to touch her neck. Maybe she’d been someone’s pet before she was caught on the plains. He’d never know for sure, but ever since that first day she was a dream to ride.

“Come.” The mare followed her master with a flick of her mane. He didn’t plan to go very far, which is why he walked now, but the plants he intended to find weren’t guaranteed to be close by. Better to plan for the worst than regret it later.

For hours Charles sought through the forest floor near camp. He followed the edge of the water, silent besides the occasional encouragement to his horse. Further down the shoreline he found what he was looking for: ginseng root. A few of the were plants clustered together under the shade of a tree. Charles methodically picked and broke the stems away, then stowed the herb in his saddlebag before heading back the way he came. But he took a sharp turn before reaching too close. He’d seen a honey bee hive not far in the trees on an old fallen log.

Harvesting it wasn’t as easy a job, obviously, but he’d done it a couple of times as a boy. Working swiftly he used his knife to take a fair share of the comb, ignoring how the bees suddenly began to swarm and sting his arms. It hurt of course- but it’s nothing compared to bullets.

After that it was more of an idle wandering. He came across the blackberry patch he’d spotted a few weeks earlier and found the fruit more ripe than last time. Then he found Burdock, sage, and a few stalks of lavender in the fields. All useful.

For good measure he hunted quail as well. All the while he wondered what would become of the Larcade siblings. Their home is destroyed, and with no money there was simply nowhere to go. He doubted Dutch would kick them out in such a state but he also didn’t think the man would allow them to stay. Or maybe Dutch would have a change of heart? If the two were useful they might stand a chance.

He’d advocate for them, in any case. They deserved that much.

When at last Charles returned to camp it was nearly dusk. The sun had turned the sky into a violently bright hue of red and the gang were mostly returned from their daily chores and errands. Many of the men sat around the central fire and ate as they talked, while the women were all playing a game of go fish or something at the table, and Dutch was in his tent by himself. The only two he did not see were Arthur and Hosea.

Charles was chaste as he dropped off his kills and turned to the fire. He ignored the call of food- he hadn’t eaten breakfast- in favor of mixing the herbs he’d found and boiling them into a strong tea with one of the spare kettles left by the fire. No one asked where he’d went, not that he really minded much. He’s known to be one of the more solitary of the gang and honestly dislikes it when others poke in his business. Years of social stigma does that sort of thing to a man.

Finally, with the tea brewed and all his things gathered, Charles approached the tent. It seems quite lonesome so far from the rest of the camp, but the quiet will probably be appreciated once the gang starts to drink like they usually do at dinnertime.

He peeks in before entering, just to be polite. Will and Evangeline are the only occupants currently. The brother is seated on a stool at the side of the cot the sister lay on. She is folded onto her side and bundled in just a sheet to keep her cool. Her hand and head are the only skin exposed, with the former clasped tightly in Will’s grip against his chin. His eyes are red with strain- how long he must’ve sat there worrying- and his knee bounced like it was made of rubber.

Slowly Charles moved inside the tent. It’s warm, the only light being a gas lamp on a wooden box. Will glances over at him again and says nothing.

“She hasn’t woken?” Charles asks. Will shakes his head. He doesn’t bother trying to console him in the current atmosphere. “I brought some things- can you get her to drink?” He sets the steaming kettle and an enamel mug on the wooden box, then offers a few small parcels with the blackberries and honey inside. Will finally breathes and straightens, running a hand over his face.

“I can try. What is it?”

“Tea. It should help reduce her fever, or at least help keep her strength while she heals. I have honey too, for her wounds.” Closer now Charles can see that her bruises have matured into dark black and blue splotches on her throat. Her left eye is swollen as well. If anything she looks worse than when she came in. “You should drink some too, for your shoulder.”

“Thank you.” Will responds. He pours himself a cup and holds it in both hands. Evangeline’s rests against the cot, then slowly pulls under the sheets with a shiver. Charles doesn’t know what to say after that. He’s never been really keen so sensitive moments like this. Maybe he should just go-

“I never got to say it but thank you.” Will suddenly starts. Charles looks back up to him quickly, body in mid turn to leave. “For saving her. If you hadn’t brought her here so quickly they might have caught you.” When he looks at Charles it’s with absolute sincerity. It makes the older man want to squirm, uneasy about accepting praise like that.

“It’s not a problem.”

“And thank you for this.” Will nods at the mug.

“Of course.”

“I never got your name.”

“Charles Smith.” Will gives a weak smile and offers his hand. They shake-

“Wilton Larcade. But you already knew that. Thank you again, Mr. Smith.” He seems to finalize their engagement with that, turning back to his sister as he drinks slowly. Charles ducks and leaves without another word.

—-

Evangeline’s fever persisted for three days after that night until it broke on the fourth morning. Charles wasn’t there, but he heard from Tilly that she’d finally been able to wake up and eat a proper meal, as well as allow the girl to help her clean up and change clothes. It’s a big improvement and it ease Charles’ mind. Each day he’d worried about the girl- maybe a bit too much for his own good- and thought about her as he went out to hunt. Her brother was slowly healing from the pain but had only truly left the tent to take care of himself recently. Yesterday he finally agreed to visit a doctor to be sure the bullet had been fully removed (it was) but was making fast friends with Sean and Lenny. Despite it all Will seemed the cheerful sort- usually laughing or joking lightly, walking with a easygoing gait that made him seem very boyish. 

Charles kept to himself. The Larcade’s weren’t truly his business and he didn’t want to put himself on the spot by prying. He hunted, kept watch, or did chores- anything to keep his mind and body away from the ailing girl that occupied his thoughts and probably didn't want his attention. 

He returned at noon with half a dozen rabbits and a few squirrels. It’s Sunday, which is the day the gang typically takes to rest, religious reasons or not. Everyone was in camp working or resting. He spotted the girls by the lake shore washing clothes and heard them laugh with each other. Everything felt peaceful for once.

He did not expect, however, to see Evangeline sitting by Pearson’s cart. She had regained color in her face and was concentrated on a lot of green beans in her lap. With a small knife she snipped the ends and dropped them to the chickens which had gathered around to feast on the scraps. She wore a set of clothes Charles thought might belong to Mary-Beth, and Pearson sat beside her telling some story about a camel spitting in his eye. He gestured wildly with his knife btu she didn't seem to really be focused on him, instead staring intently at her own personal work and glancing occasionally at the chickens. 

The sight of Evangeline, well and now fully conscious, had Charles suddenly nervous. What for he couldn’t place- but he suddenly wondered what he would say, what he would do. Pearson noticed him and spoke up before he got a clue-

“Ah! there you are Charles- I see you’ve brought us dinner.” Evangeline lifted her eyes and looked up at him blankly. They were just as green as he remembered them being that night, although far less frightened. Her left brow was no longer swollen and had faded to a green-yellow, the bruises about her neck and wrists nearly gone. “What’cha got for me?”

Charles snapped back into his body and looked away.

“Hares and squirrels.”

“Slim pickin’s?”

“Yeah. I think the storm is making them shy.” Dark clouds gathered again in the East and wind was already billowing strong around the camp. It’d be a brutal night, he’s sure.

“Well, no bother. I can still cook up something strong before the rain starts. Thank you.” Charles nods and gives one last glance to Evangeline. She’s still staring at him, a bean in her hand and against the knife. The wind curls a strand of hair into her face and she pushes it back with slim fingers.

Charles forces himself to turn on his heel and move to his tent. There was something in her gaze that was powerful and it unnerved him in a way he’d never felt before. It wasn’t distrust but… well, he just didn’t know. It made his stomach feel like it was on fire.

He occupied himself with arrows. They’re simple enough to craft but just complicated enough to require immediate thought. One by one he notched the thin pieces of wood he’d previously cut to size with his pocket knife. Little slivers of wood accumulated at his feet as he worked. Sometimes they were scattered with the wind, sometimes they flew up and landed on his lap. Around him the camp continued their daily work. Slowly, Charles began to think of only his crafts.

“Hello.” He jumped in his seat- how hadn’t he heard someone approach? To his left a woman’s skirt appeared in his vision and he looked up. It's Evangeline. Her hands are against her stomach held together, a shy look on her face.

“You’re the man who rescued me, right?” Charles stuttered as he blinked up at her. “I know you’re not the only one- I spoke to Mr. Van Der Linde about it all- but he said you were the one that rode me out of…” She motioned in the air with her hand.

“Uh yeah. I did.” Shit, why is his voice so weak?

“Well I just wanted to thank you for everything. My brother says you also brought us some tea and food while I was sick, and that really helped us both.” She then wrung her hands together again. Charles was caught by how sweet her voice sounded now that she was calm. It reminded him of a dove’s coo- low and soft in the twilight to it’s mate. “I’m sorry if i’ve disturbed you-“

“No no- was just caught up in my thoughts-“ He suddenly rises up on his feet and pats away the wood shavings that clung to his clothes. “And it wasn’t a bother, really. Just wanted to help.” Awkwardly then, glancing between them, he offers his hand.

“Charles Smith.” She smiles a little. Polite, but tired. She takes his hand and gently shakes it how a lady would.

“Evangeline.” Her fingers are warm but small. When he looks down their skin contrasts greatly, and he notices the bits of green under her nails as well as freckles on the back of her hand. They slip apart and she returns to fiddling against her green-stained apron.

The silence is awkward, to say the least. Charles has not the slightest idea what to say next, and Evangeline doesn’t seem to know either. A small gust of wind shakes the trees and turns up her shirt collar, loosing a bit of her hair again.

“Well, I suppose i’ll leave you to it, Mr. Smith.”

“Charles.” He responds quickly. She raises a brow. Thick, dark lashes frame her sage green eyes dramatically, drawing him in like freshwater pools. “Please. Just Charles.”

Then she smiles a bit more genuinely, cheeks pulling with it.

“Charles.”

And she leaves with a small tip of her head. Charles is left staring after her, watching as she returns to Pearson and is given a potato to peel. He has to tear his eyes away from her, looking back at his arrows, which seem unappealing and frivolous now. That feeling in his stomach has returned again but tenfold- his insides are boiling like a stew. The hunter tries not to think of what that feeling could imply and picks up his things to put them away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Larcades earn their place.

"Stop- Stop-"

"I hurts!"

"I know it hurts, but I can't sew if you're struggling the whole while." Evangeline's voice is gentle yet stern as she chastises Bill, his back bare to her laying against one of the camp tables. She lays a hand against his nape gently and squeezes his tense, sunburned skin. "Please, just a little longer, okay? Then I'll clean it one last time and we'll be done. I know you can handle just a little more."

High velocity bullets dug deep into flesh no matter where they were aimed. This one had ploughed directly into the meat of his shoulder and had been a real struggle to remove- but with the use of some stolen forceps and a lot of patience the young nurse had fished it out. Now it sat in a hot bowl of water beside her as she tried to stitch up the large hole it had left. But all that wriggling for the little bit of metal had left the skin sore and sensitive. 

Now Bill was all but writhing in his seat and trying to crawl across the table. 

"Okay." Seemingly calm for the moment, Evangeline gave his nape another gentle squeeze and resumed her work. She'd woven probably a hundred stitches by now through skin both dead and alive, making the process second nature. A small smile came to her lips.

"You're worse than some animals I've had to work on, you know." 

"Hah, very funny." The big man takes a long swig of some gin someone had passed him. The woman just shakes her head in amusement. 

Charles watched her quietly from his place by the fire. Bill, Arthur and Dutch had come back from a moonshine job with Sheriff Gray, and from what their leader reported it had been quite successful. Each day the man worked to slowly gain the trust of the families he planned to manipulate and his eyes gleamed with the thrill of the game. But Charles wasn't as confident as the other man seemed to be. Working with so many variables felt sloppy and risky at best. They hardly knew these people, were treated like outsiders in the town of Rhodes, and Dutch expected them to just welcome them in with open arms? Surely these people are fools, but not to such a radical degree. Still, though, he kept his mouth shut and trusted the man in charge. He may have doubts but he's not a leader and doesn't presume to know better options. He just prays they make it home alive each night. 

He glances at Arthur- unscathed from the misadventure- as he smokes a cigarette at the edge of camp. They're kindred spirits in a way and he knows the man has similar doubts. Well, not doubts- worries more like. Fears. Paranoia. The more people they burn, the bigger target is on their backs. All of them, not just Dutch. Pearson, Strauss, Abigail and Jack- those who stay in camp and are vulnerable. 

Like Evangeline and Will. 

"There, done. Okay big guy?" She gently touches Bill's head and moves hair from his face, but he's beginning to succumb to the alcohol and only hums in reply. She laughs softly- a sweet and fleeting sound. "Okay. You just rest then, no hard labor for a few days so it can heal, and keep clean." She then moves and washes her hands with a rag in a bucket of water brought close by while she worked. 

The siblings have been somewhat of a staple around camp recently. Will, despite being the human equivalent of a newborn colt in a corn field, has a way with his boyish charms and quick words. Charles had gone into town with him not but a few days ago and watched as he swindled a man from selling his mare for twenty dollars down to just eleven. He can't shoot to save his life but hell, bartering is a skill most of them lack. Not to mention he's slight, inoffensive, easy to underestimate. He takes to outlaw life well. 

Evangeline is the other side of the coin, in a way. She isn't particularly talkative or loud, usually fading into the background around camp. She works with Pearson or Mrs. Grimshaw most of the time doing simple chores or cleaning. But she's never idle. No matter what time of day Charles finds her at she is working; washing clothes, cutting vegetables, sewing or organizing. A busybody. In the rare moments he hasn't seen her work she is sitting quietly, staring off at something he cannot see, or talking with her brother. She doesn't socialize in the way he does. She doesn't drink, doesn't sing, doesn't do much at all. He wonders if she has always been like that, or if her trauma has changed her. Charles would understand- it's a lot to go through, being kidnapped and abused. He can't imagine there's much joy in her right now. 

Bodies shift and block Evangeline from view, and Charles turns his attention back to the fire. It's nighttime and most of the gang is winding down for the night. Javier has picked up his Spanish guitar, Uncle is close to his right and reeks of beer, and Dutch watches by the tree with a billow of cigar smoke. All is calm around them and crickets sing. It's... nice. Dutch keeps insisting their luck is turning and sometimes, through the murk, Charles can believe him. Like right now with friends around and a song beginning to pick up from Javier's eloquent tongue. 

"Here, Javier, do you mind?" Will is suddenly beside him with a spark in his eye. Javier regards him with a quirked brow. "Awh come on, don't-cha'll wanna hear something new?"

A general noise of agreement passes around the group at the fire. With that Javier shrugs and hands off his guitar to Will, who takes it with a grand smile and sits on an upturned crate. 

"Treat her gently, Mijo."

"Oh I treat all my women gently, mon ami." He strums a few times, tweaks the tuning, then begins some low, southern melody Charles has never heard before. He sits on the ground with one knee up but leans in slightly to see Will better through the fire. He looks especially young like this; his face caught up with excitement and beaming. No doubt he's had a few beers himself. Damn lightweight. 

"Now, this is a classic Cajun tale, one my dear uncle Tommy taught me before he passed. It's called _Allons Danser Colinda_... or, in English... Let's Dance Colina..." 

_Allons danser, Colinda_   
_Danser collé, Colinda_   
_Pendant q'ta mère est pas là_   
_Pour faire facher les vielles femmes_

 

_C'est pas tout le monde qui peut danser_   
_Toutes les vielles valses du vieux temps_   
_Pendant q'ta mère est pas là_   
_Allons danser, Colinda!_

 

Will's voice spoke the French easily with a slight twang. The guitar kept the sweet tune like syrup, and Will's foot tapped along to keep tempo. It's a dancing song, Charles can tell. he could picture in his head women being swung around by men vying for their hearts. It's common in the south to have dances to meet other people, since there isn't much else to do in the country and neighbors are so far away. Charles slightly bobs his head with the beat, then his foot as well. It's actually quite nice. 

 

_Colinda was the prettiest girl in all the bayou land_   
_And all the boys would dance with her_   
_And try to win her hand_

 

Karen slid up to Sean, who in glee set aside his beer to take her hand in dance. He could see Dutch doing something similar for Molly, but her tastes were higher than this, weren't they? Charles chuckled into the mouth of his beer. 

  
_Her mother would always chaperone_   
_Colinda every night_   
_She did not want them Cajun boys_   
_To hold her daughter tight_

 

_Allons danser, Colinda!_

 

Will stands, still strumming and singing, bouncing on his feet. He walks to his sister, sat in the shadows by the tree. She looks up and immediately her eyes widen, hands up to tell him no. 

 

_Danser collé, Colinda_   
_Pendant q'ta mère est pas là_   
_Pour faire facher les vielles femmes_

 

Charles can see her mouth 'Will, no' but he sings on, grinning playfully as he does. 

 

_C'est pas tout le monde qui peut danser_   
_Toutes les vielles valses du vieux temps_   
_Pendant q'ta mère est pas là_   
_Allons danser, Colinda!_

 

"Come on Eve, for me!" Will calls to her. By now the girls face is bright red, pressed back against the tree like a cornered hare. Charles can't picture her dancing now. Will shakes his head and hurries back to Javier. "Can you keep the chords?" And Javier, being the musician he is, winks and plays almost exactly as Will had moments ago. It makes the blonde whoop in a uniquely Southern way, and he bounces back over to his sister. 

 

 

_Ouais danse, Colinda, ouais Colinda_   
_Ouais Colinda, danse!_

 

"Will-" He takes her hand and pulls her into the light. Then he's shifted her into position and started guiding her around the clearing best he can while he sings. At first Evangeline seems to unwillingly oblige, scowling from her brother, but over time her sharp expression fades. Will twirls her around and two-steps with her, then he picks her up and twirls her around, and for the first time Charles hears her laugh. 

 

A real, boisterous laugh. It sounds like church bells that ring in the morning. Clear, harmonious. 

 

_Allons danser, Colinda_   
_Danser collé, Colinda_   
_Pendant q'ta mère est pas là_   
_Oh, pour faire facher toutes les vielles femmes_

 

From then on it's all merry. Evengeline doesn't seem so uneasy about the dancing anymore and moves with her brother, even sings along, but not with much effort. It's a side of her Charles did not think existed. For once her face is soft and relaxed, her voice sounds unbothered, and she laughs on and on and oh God, why does he feel so hot? The hunter can't help but smile in shared happiness. In fact, the whole gang seems pretty upbeat now. Couples are dancing and Uncle, drunk as hell, is dying of laughter with Bill over some unheard joke. And Arthur presides over it all against a tent with a soft grin on his features. This, Charles thinks, is worth fighting for. Family. 

 

Evangeline stops their incessant twirling and whispers something to her brother, gesturing at Mary-Beth alone at the edge of the fire. Will's face is already flush but he seems to get throttled by whatever his sister said. He slips away and goes to the lonesome girl to offer a dance. And Mary-Beth, sweet girl, accepts with a hand against her chest in surprise. 

Evangeline smiles and watches for a moment, then somehow turns and catches Charles staring. Their gazes hold for a moment, but it feels like an hour. Even at a distance he gets lost in the green forests of her eyes. She bashfully glances away, tucks a hair behind her ear, and smoothes out her skirt borrowed from another girl. Then she leaves. 

 

Something- god knows what- possesses Charles to stand up and follow her. 

 

The woman escapes to the water's edge. Here the singing and the music is faint and easy to ignore, but the lighting is low. The only sound he can make out now is the chirping of crickets and the water lapping at the red shoreline. Evangeline stands in the moonlight with her hands wrung together against her waist. She glances at Charles as he steps up a respectable foot away from her. 

 

"Hello, Charles." She says his name so sweetly he fears his knees will melt beneath him. 

 

"Evangeline." 

 

Silence again for a minute. It's nice, the quiet. They dwell beside each other and he doesn't feel anything else needs to be said, despite there being a hundred and one things on his mind. 

 

"My brother-" She pipes up. "He's always been the life of the party. Even when he was little, he'd have all the women after him, somehow." Another soft chuckle, and then she shakes her head, looking down at her hands. "I never understood how he did it. I'm not... well- I'm not the most outgoing, as I'm sure you've noticed."

 

"Nothing wrong with that." He chimes. 

 

"No but... makes me envious, I guess. Everyone wants his attention." Charles turns to look at Evengeline. Her eyes gleam like river pearls. 

 

"And not you, You mean?"

 

"Oh no-" She waves her hand in dismissal. "I mean, I had plenty of partners at dances, I'm just not all they expect me to be."

 

"Which is?" That earns him a long, thoughtful sigh. 

 

"Cheery, I guess. So upbeat. I'm not a good dancer, not good at talkin' either, and... I'm just plain." That alone made Charles' heart beat faster. She finds herself plain? How, how possibly- when he is so caught by just the sight of her, just the hint of her voice? He shifts a little on his feet and pushes a hand nervously into his pocket. What does he say? What **can** he say, without making a fool of himself?

 

"For what it's worth, Evangeline, I don't think you're plain at all." 

 

She looks at him again with a strangely beautiful smile he hadn't seen before. Despite it being dark he can catch the flush on her cheeks, and her eyes cast away again just a moment later, her hand pushing more hair out of her face. It was down for the first time in a while, the long tresses reaching her middle back and most of it tossed over the shoulder facing away from him. The skin of her nape was exposed, and with her collar undone and low for the heat, she looked like a dream. And shit, Charles is struggling to wake up. 

 

"Thank you." She says. 

 

"You're welcome." He answers. 

 

But it feels like there's more on his tongue. As they stare at each other freely now the hunter finds himself delving deep into those greens again. There are secrets to sift through, stories to hear, and so much- so _much_ \- to say-

 

"Miss Evangeline! Please come up-" They turn and see Dutch gesturing with Molly at his hip. She looks drunk by how she clings to his shoulder and laughs her loud, Irish laugh. "I do believe I have some information you'd like to hear!" 

 

The two exchange a glance and Evangeline excuses herself, hiking her skirt up slightly so she can ascend back to the fire. Charles stares after her for a second before moving to catch up. 

 

The party has calmed. Everyone is either drunk or happily exhausted from the dancing- save Uncle of course, who's passed out on his bedroll. His snores are only slightly annoying as the gang gather around their leader. 

 

"Now, as you all know, Mr. Will and Miss Evangeline have been through an incredibly dark chapter of their lives; like us they've lost their home, their family, their future, and their fortune." The gang mumbles in agreement. Evangeline looks at the ground with slight solemn discomfort. "And, like us, they've found redemption." He raises a beer, the gang cheers in agreement with their own. "And so, it's with great honor and the utmost of affection that I extend to you- Mr. Wilton and Miss Evangeline Larcade- a permanent place in our family. Of course, if none of you barbarians object." Everyone laughs and hoots and sways with the wind. Charles can't help but smile again.

 

"No? Then, what do you say, dynamic duo? Are you in?" Dutch looks between the two siblings. Will is bright red like a cherry and not so slyly holding Mary-Beth's hand. He lifts his free one into a fist and grins wide. 

 

"I'm in!" The gang practically screams with joy. Sean jumps to his feet and embraces his newfound friend, Lenny not far behind, and Mary-Beth seems like the stars are hung in the young blonde's eyes. Dutch then regards Evangeline. 

 

"And you, miss?"

 

She looks caught off guard again, everyone expectantly looking up to her. 

 

"I-I-" She stutters. Charles feels a sharp sting of fear. Not for that Evangeline doesn't want the outlaw life, but for her not being well suited to it. She cannot shoot a gun, cannot rob a stranger, cannot even steal a horse. Shit, can she even ride? Charles hasn't seen her even approach the horses. This is no life for a nurse who was almost a nun. 

 

"Well, yes." Is the answer anyways. Everyone roars with glee again and Tilly hops up to take her hands excitedly. They'd bonded a little and Evangeline smiles at her kindly. Karen then, drunk as well but walking with determination, claps her on the shoulder before catching her under the larger woman's arm. 

 

"Y'know, I liked this bitch the moment I met her!" She shouts. Charles puts out a hand to keep her upright and from pulling Evangeline with her. "Yer' a hard worker, you know? And you don't- you don't complain- you do what yer' told. But you don't take shit from nobody! And you don't ever have to, honey. Because if someone gives you trouble-" Karen points in her face. Poor Evangeline- her eyes are wide with how ridiculous it all is.

 

"I. Will personally. Gut them." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey heyyyy sorry i'm so awful at notes, I generally do this really fast and uh it shows!!!
> 
> if any of you wanna keep up with me on social media my tumblr is here: http://actualcryptiid.tumblr.com/
> 
> Allons Danser Colinda is a classic Cajun French Folk song from Louisiana- AKA where Lemoyne is based from. The Lrcade family is Cajun French and so speak fluent French and most of their culture/heritage is based off Cajun culture. Dancing parties were popular in the late 1800's early 1900's as a way to meet new people and spend a weekend night. 
> 
> in fact, that's how my grandparents on both sides met :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses are not a nun's forté.

"It's a what?" 

"A cicada shell, Sean. Like the bug." Tilly's tone is flat, unimpressed.

"Shell?"

"They molt." 

"I'm sorry, I don't follow." 

"Look-" Evangeline chimes in. She holds the frail skeleton in her palm and gestures with her pinky finger, which is small and dainty enough to not obscure details. "You see the split down the middle? When they're babies they can't fly, they just eat and grow, and when they're ready to become an adult their skin gets dry and hard so they can mature. When they're done they break out of their old skin and fly away, leaving just their old body behind." 

Sean nods along, his brows furrowed in concentration. The man is already piss drunk despite it being only two or three in the afternoon. 

"It's their birthday suit." He suggests. 

" _Quoi?_ "

"Y'know, like they say when yer born. It's yer birthday suit!" The redhead's words are slurred and twisted, revealing just how irresponsible he's been with the beer today. Evangeline draws the cicada shell back to herself and seems to think for a moment. Her brows lift, a small smile on her pink lips, and she chuckles softly. 

"I suppose you're right."

Before the conversation could continue, Tilly reaches from where she'd been sewing a pair of pants and takes the shell in her fingers. Careful not to break it- but still fast- she reaches out to Sean with it and grins. 

"They can also do this!" She hooks the shell onto Sean's shirt by the tiny feet still curled into a hanging position. Sean immediately recoils and tucks his chin down with horror in his eyes. He exclaims and leans back, trying to bat the dead creature off his shirt while shouting 'Off! Off! Get it off!' He leans so far back, in fact, that the upturned bucket he's sitting on rocks flips over. He lands flat on his back in the red dirt with a dramatic display of flailing limbs and twisting. By now the two girls are nearly howling with laughter, their hands pressed to their mouths in that mischievous, girlish way young women do. Evangeline's eyes crinkle and tighten at the corners in glee. For just a moment, Charles can see the familial resemblance between her and Will clearly. 

After a minute of struggle Sean finally swipes the cicada shell away. It breaks into tiny pieces in the dirt as he rolls and hops up to his feet. His hands are planted on his hips like a petulant child. 

"Not funny, Tilly."

"Oh, very funny, Sean." The young man gives her a pouty look, but it only earns him more laughter from the two girls. 

Charles wouldn't admit it, but he'd been secretly watching the girls all day. His ears strained from the side of the scout fire where he was posted cleaning rifles for anyone who would appreciate it. It had been a slow, hot day again, dragging on and on slowly like cold syrup in the morning. Nothing exciting had happened in a while and it had Dutch itching and pacing about his tent until it seemed like he couldn't take it anymore. He'd rode off somewhere- Charles couldn't guess doing what- with Micah in tow on Baylock behind him. Arthur had been gone for about two, maybe three days now? It wasn't unlike him but soon Charles knew he'd be sent out to find him. Will and Lenny too were nowhere to be seen, but unlike the others had made sure to tell everyone in camp that they were gone fishing and wouldn't be back till much later in the afternoon. 

That left just Charles, Javier, Bill and Sean as the most capable men in the camp- Sadie standing beside them. And though the day seemed to remain as unexciting as it began, Charles was still keeping vigilant of the camp's perimeter. 

Sean shouted off some old Irish tune in a twangy, drunken tone at the edge of the forest. 

One man down, then. 

"Charles, Kieran-" Called Evangeline's dove-like voice. Charles looked up from his work and tried to hide the excitement in his eyes at her presence, his heart leaping in his chest at the sight of her. Her cheeks were rosy red from the blistering sun, but it didn't seem to bother her at all, apron bundled in her hands to carry something inside. Her hair was back in a tight french braid and rested over her shoulder like a long, dark rope. She would look gorgeous with flowers woven in. 

"Well hello Miss Evangeline." Kieran chimed. He stood maybe ten feet away brushing down the camp horses one by one. "What can we do for you today?"

"Oh nothing, I just thought I might bring you two a treat." The woman's cheeks pulled up merrily with secrets. She unfurled her apron and showed off four bright red apples, fat and fresh picked. "Mr. Pearson told me only one per person, but I don't think he'll miss just two more, do you?" She offered Kieran his pair first, who smiled so wide and bright his teeth threatened to blind. 

"Why thank you Miss! It's much appreciated!" And he took a hefty big bite. Evangeline welcomed him, then turned to Charles and did the same. He didn't miss a beat, watching how her hands cradled the fruit and didn't shy away as his larger, rougher hands brushed her own. 

"Thank you." He said simply. He felt like it was inadequate, like he should say more, but what else was there to say? She smiled down at him like an angel full of grace and selflessness. His mouth opened to maybe give a few more words, but Kieran beat him to it. 

"You better not let Pearson catch you, though. He's a mean son-ofa-bitch, you know that." He continued to brush Bronwyn with one hand as he ate with the other. Evangeline straightened and held her hands together at her waistline. Though she'd never actually worked as a nun, she still held herself like one. 

"Oh I know. I just saw you two out here working all day. I believe diligence deserves reward." 

Not an angel- a saint. Suddenly Charles felt a heavy breath on his shoulder, and a great big head peered over his arm to reach at his lap. 

"Taima, you're being rude." He mumbled to the mare. She didn't seem to pay him any mind, ears and eyes focused on the two apples he held. With a heavy, but endeared, sigh Charles set aside the rifle he'd been re-assembling and the spare apple. Then he pulled out his knife and began to cut the apple into pieces. One went to him, and the next went to Taima. He could feel Evangeline's eyes on him but decided not to look up and meet them. Nervousness haunted him whenever she was around. One wrong word, one mistaken move, and Charles feared she would somehow find a reason to dislike him. A fair, beautiful young southern girl in the company of a colored outlaw. He can't imagine a worse scene. 

Bronwyn stepped forward towoards Evangeline then. Her pink nose was stretched out to sniff and she only had kind intentions, but Evangeline suddenly stiffened and stepped away with wide eyes. 

"Pardon me, Miss Evangeline, if I'm being rude but- are you afraid of horses?" Kieran's voice was gentle, as used to being reprimanded as he was. Evangeline seemed to startle with the question and looked between all three of them rapidly. Her hands began to twist back and forth- a nervous habit Charles had begun to recognize- and her voice wavered. 

"No I- Well- I've grown up with horses all my life. I've been around plenty, I just-" She swallowed. Bronwyn apparently decided she was no longer interested and returned to her standing position, allowing Kieran to brush out her mane. "They're just so _big_."

"Well, they sure are." Kieran laughed softly. "But they're not so different from dogs, y'know? They just want to eat, work and have affection. I'd even go as far to say that horses are some of the most gentle creatures I've ever had the pleasure of working with."

"Save the Count." Javier suddenly spoke, back from his short patrol around the edge of camp. He'd handed his gun off to Sadie who now stood in his place like a vigilant mother cat. 

"I'm sure you're right." She returned as she flattened out her skirts. "I just... suppose i've never had the pleasure of getting very close. My mother always told me they were dangerous."

"Oh of course. But again, they're just like dogs. You scare any animal enough they can be mean." With that the conversation seemed to fade off. Evangeline still wearily watched the horse, Kieran returned to his brushing, Javier plopped down beside Charles on the log. It felt... tense. Charles didn't like it. So after a moment he pushed Taima away and stood. 

"Evangeline." He began. She turned her bright green eyes over to him, threatening to swipe his knees out from under him. "Come with me." He nodded to the side. The raven quirked her brow in question, but didn't protest as she stepped over the log he'd been sitting on and followed him out to the small clearing they'd left for the horses. Taima followed with interest, but Evangeline kept Charles between them. Once they were a decent space away from the others and the rest of the horses, Charles offered out his hand. 

"What-"

"It's okay, trust me." He insisted kindly. The girl looked between the animal and himself, confused and maybe frightened, but with a moment of hesitation carefully placed her hand in his own. Once again he was amazed by their contrast; her skin so light, so soft, her fingers slight compared to his own. She'd never done a day of rough work in her life, he'd bet. An inside girl kept from the dangers of farm animals and field work. Carefully he moved her hand to rest flat out palm up, then guided her to reach out to Taima at a slight distance. The mare pricked her ears and leaned forward. Evangeline instinctively tried to retract her hand, but Charles held fast. 

"She won't hurt you." He reassured with a small smile. Evangeline shook slightly and looked up at him, then down at Taima, and held stone still as the horse snuffed her palm. The moment her lips touched Evangeline's skin Charles could see a look of revelation dawn on her face. Her brows lifted, eyes widened to bright green saucers, then suddenly tighten up in that way ticklish people do when prodded the wrong way. Her lips twisted into a pursed smile, and God help him, she giggled. It was still the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "Tickles, doesn't it?"

"It does!" She snickered again, curling her fingers up slightly to cup the horses chin and scratch just a little. "And so soft."

Finding no apple pieces or sugar cubes, Taima lifted her head and snorted. Evangeline spooked slightly and drew away her hand fast, causing Charles to laugh.

"She expected a treat- here-" Charles grabbed his pieces of apple and offered one to Evangeline. "Give it to her just like before, palm flat. Horses don't bite; they use their lips to pick things up." 

Surprisingly, Evangeline did not hesitate this time as she offered the apple to Taima, and now with incentive in hand, the horse perked up again and mouthed in earnest. It only took a moment for her to snatch up the treat and munch it down. 

"She's so sweet." The girl mused. Charles hummed in agreement, offering her another slice, to which Eve offered to Taima. 

"She's probably the most well-mannered horse I've ever owned. I've always prefered mares- they seem a lot more calm, more clear-headed." Charles watched the two interact quietly. Evangeline lifted her hand higher and stroked from Taima's forehead down to her nose. The mare held still, always gentle and patient, as the woman admired her. 

"Horses have always been more my brother's interest. He was expected to take after the homestead like our father did. He worked in the fields, harvested every fall, always came back home covered in mud and bruises, but he seemed to really enjoy it. My mother always said that was a man's work." She then paused in apparent melancholy. "I suppose she was right."

"Womens work is no less respectable, though." Charles offered. It made Evangeline smile and give him an incredulous look. He just Shrugged in reply.

"What about you? Did you grow up on a farm?"

"In a way. Our tribe kept horses and cattle, chickens too, sometimes goats. Mostly anything that could pick up and move as we migrated. But we didn't really rely on farm animals as much as we did hunting for our own food." 

"Must have been hard at times, I can imagine."

"Yeah, it was. but it was my mother's way of life. She always taught me to have respect for the animals we kill and to thank them for their sacrifice so we could live." He crossed his arms then, out of apples, but Taima stayed in favor of the generous petting. "We would never take more than we needed."

"Your mother was native, then?"

"Yeah. My father was black."

"And how did he take to it?"

"Oh he loved it. He loved my mother, he loved me. But when she died he became a different person." Charles never liked speaking of his family. Though he'd come to terms with it, the scars still ached at every memory. Evangeline wasn't really the person he wanted to share that pain with either. Not from a lack of understanding- she was a lovely woman in that sense. But he just felt she didn't need to know. Or perhaps he didn't want her to. He worried what she'd think of him if she knew his past. He isn't the wonderful, kind, generous man she thinks he is. Not always at least. He knew it would break his heart to loose her approval, and that alone scared him enough to remain silent. 

"I see." Sensing the tension around the subject, Evangeline did not press. They remained quiet for a while, just watching Taima and how her eyes grew soft and sleepy, her tail lazily shooing away flies behind her.

"My family is Catholic, as you might know by now." The trees around them shifted in a slight breeze. "And as such we believe in a Heaven and a Hell. Those who are saved by the grace of God may enter his kingdom, and those who are not loose the chance. I was raised in church, always taught to believe in the word of God and that my soul is in his hands forever, alive or dead. I was called to serve the church because of it. But... I must confess- I don't truly believe you must be saved to enter heaven." 

Charles looks over to the young woman beside him. Her voice sounds soft and meek, as if she's a child speaking out against their parent. To say he is surprised is an understatement. Catholics, of perhaps all people, are the most devoted in their faith. Outside thought is completely unheard of, treated as a sin. Curiosity is the devil in a priest's eyes. Evangeline looks beyond Taima at that far distant object Charles still cannot see. Her eye are dark, searching, unable to reach whatever it is she wants to find. 

"There is too much kindness in the souls of some men and women for them to be turned away. I haven't ever been told our God is spiteful, so I cannot imagine he'd spurn his own children simply for being lost. And even then- some of the most Godly people i've met have been those spurned from the church. Beggars, the sick, the forgotten... I don't wish to imagine them burning in Hell. To me they're saved through virtue, not the hands of an ordained man or woman." 

"You're very gracious to think so.." She laughs softly at his comment. 

"You'd be wrong." Charles quirks his brow at her. "My mother always made this face when something made her upset. Her lips would purse, and her eyebrows would pinch in this disapproving way. But she'd say nothing about it. It would just fester within her. She never liked to hear me speak of my faith. To her... it was blasphemy. But my point is, Charles." Now she turns to look at him. Her distant eyes focus on him. All of the sudden, Charles feels like a rabbit under a hawk's stare. "I do not believe your mother is damned for what she believed in. If she is the one who raised you, then she must have been a child of God, and she is in his arms now. In Heaven. And... I don't know much of anything about your father, but I'd like to think the same of him."

Charles doesn't know what to say then. No one had ever been so kind, so accepting, to a colored man- much less one like himself. She doesn't push him to seek redemption, doesn't ask him to convert, confess or atone. She simply blesses him for it all. And in face of all she'd been through Charles has to wonder; how can a woman like her actually exist beside him?

"I'm sorry if i've overstepped."

"No- Not at all." Charles passes a hand through his hair slowly and lets a tight breath ease out of his tight chest. "I've lived my whole life with my culture being ridiculed. I'm used to it now. I've just... never met anyone as kind as you." To that Evangeline smiles shyly and a slight blush creeps on her cheeks. She can't seem to meet his eyes now, a little embarrassed. 

"I just don't want you to think I'm.. Like that."

"I never would. You're quite admirable, Evangeline- And I wish more people shared your opinion." Her blush intensifies. It's a sweet look on her, one he'd like to see more often. 

"As are you, Charles. You're one of the most admirable men I've ever met." 

"I want you to have something." Charles turns and gestures for Evangeline to follow him. He's ot sure why, but something leaps in his heart like fire. She gives Taima one last gentle pat before she does, leaving the mare dozing right where she stands peacefully. Charles leads her to his little bedroll beside Javier's where he keeps his sparse belongings in a small crate. Most of it is tools, supplies; things to craft and provide. But in an even smaller case are the belongings he treasures most. Out of the box he pulls one of a few eagle feathers he'd collected over his life. It's in perfect condition, one of the best he has. He presents it to her with an open hand. It takes all his concentration not to tremble as she reaches out to pluck the feather from his palm with all the grace of a swan. She turns it over thoughtfully and passes the soft fibers over her fingers.

"It's from an eagle. My mother always loved them and told me stories from our tribe about their strength. I keep them to remember her by, but I want you to have this one." She smiles up at him again adoringly. 

"What for?" 

"For all you said. I know she'd like you so..." He gestures haphazardly, unsure how to explain himself. But Evangeline seems to understand and nods as he smile only grows. 

"Thank you so much, Charles. I'm honored." Then she holds the feather to her breast with both hands over her heart in gratitude. "Allow me to return the favor, sometime?"

"You don't-"

"Charles, please." Despite his nervousness Charles can't help but smile back at her. 

"Sure."

"Thank you. I should probably go back to work now, but I really enjoyed our talk. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, yeah. Have a good afternoon."

She bows her head sweetly again and departs from him. The air where she stood is warm and, if Charles inhales deeply, smells of honeysuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the incredible delay! To be honest I lost interest in this fic, but I'd like to give a big shoutout to KerenOria for her incredibly supportive comments on the last two chapters! Her support and kind words have certainly brought me back~
> 
> And, as always, sorry for typos and hell no I will not use a beta.


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